Batting Helmets
by Martyr of Musique
Summary: A pick of my favourite drabbles for Soldier and Scout, which I write over on Tumblr. They're a mixed bunch, with crossfactions, AUs etc. So dip in anywhere, there's no particular order. This'll be an ongoing collection when and if I add more.
1. Helmet

**Helmet**

* * *

Scout doesn't really know where it all started. One day, he developed a crush on his teammate.

He's not particularly bothered by _liking_ the other guy, after all, it's common knowledge among the mercs that their medic is more dame than doc in the brain, and as far as Scout's concerned, the doc's a straight up pal, him _and_ the big guy who follows him around like a lovesick puppy.

But that's their little love story. _His_ \- Scout's, well it's not a love story.

Least he thinks..hopes it isn't.

'Cos that would mean the awkward jolting flip-flops his heart does, and the sweating that leaves his gun slippery in his hands whenever he catches a glint of a crooked grin sent his way are a long-term thing.

And if yesterday's invasion was anything to go by, where Pyro was calling for help up top on the balconies, and Scout responded by immediately changing direction about and tripping headlong down a mineshaft..well, it's not good for his job. Or his reputation for that matter.. _stupid heavy laughing his fucking fat ass off_..

He scowled, his features creasing and giving the musing Scout a sulking look, sitting hunched over his bat, feet dangling off the edge of the barn roof whilst his hands and chin rested upon the bandaged pommel.

A dried-out tumbleweed idly bounced past from the abandoned buildings in front of him, drawing his attention outwards to the ghost town that was so important to their boss.

Snorting inwardly, the slugger sneered from the stupidity of it all. Save the tinkering of Engie behind him, there wasn't even a sound out here! No people, no actual banks or government buildings, not even freaking birds!..

"..dumbasses," he murmured, sweeping his gaze over across to the tunnels where Medic and Heavy were playing chess on an up-turned barrel. Behind them was a dark, gaping maw, probably pretty cool and dank, which would be great to escape the heat..if it weren't for it being a death trap and all..

Sighing, the runner hung his head, bumping it lightly against the knuckles on his taped hands.

..he _had_ to be more careful..

Frowning, he worried his upper lip between his teeth. It's not like he was trying to mess up. Most days, you couldn't barely find Scout, let alone catch him on the field, hell he was SCOUT for fuck sakes!

The reason his team kept getting straight A bonuses for fund collecting, the one guy who stops those giants in their tracks, and probably one of the first people Ms Pauling picked for the invasion team!

Well, he don't know it, but he thinks she did. Maybe..? Lately, every attempt he'd tried to get her to notice him had fallen flat, and after six years he had to admit, this continuous courting and chasing her tail, was he doing this still because he loved her..or was it a built in routine to his life, like some comfy pair of shoes that you put on and never want to take off.

Twitching slightly at the distant muffled chatter from behind him, the slugger paused, then thought about his predicament.

He loved her, he knows that. Her smile when he first got off the train at Teufort Central. It was like one of those old black and white movies his Ma used to make them watch when she managed to corner them all into one room for the evening. Crowded around a crackling box that showed a tough guy meeting a girl that was so gorgeous he killed for her.

Scout would have killed a hundred deadbeats to have Ms. Pauling to smile at him like they did in the movies then, but lately..

..even the _thought_ of the man's crooked smirk sends colour to his cheeks, and he hunches his shoulders further in an attempt to hide his blush from anyone who might see.

"..Dammit, I gotta getta hold of myself," he muttered, clenching his teeth, flinching in surprise at the dual meaning of what he just said and frantically trying to clear unbidden images from his head.

 _I love Ms Pauling! I don't love my friend!..I have to keep this job so my ma can pay rent, and I can't do that falling down fucking mineshafts!_

His fingernails dug into the wood of his Sandman as he chanted desperate slogans over and over in his head.

 _The robots'll be here soon. I gotta keep it together for the team! Make sure they stay alive! No fazing out like a schmuck, gotta keep it together for my friends..for..for.._

"Scout?"

A gruff voice from his shoulder made the man jump, twisting about to find the object of his turmoil peering down at him in concern.

Instantly, he broke out into a nervous grin, jumping up onto his feet, and taking a step back from the Soldier's questioning glance.

"H-hey pally, didn't notice you there! Th-those winters in Poland really toughened up your stealth game!" he laughed, feeling awkward as the man's helmet tilted slightly to the side, like he was _judging_ Scout or something.

The feeling left as the man straightened up into his drilling form, shoulders drawn back and helmet falling back just enough for the slugger to catch the day-old stubble trailing back along his strong jaw to his earlobe.

"Scout, we are ready. Engineer has given the all-clear and it has been agreed by the Kraut and the Commie that my attack formation worked good last time. This means that we will use it again."

He paused then, and just as Scout was about to fill the silence, the veteran abruptly shocked him by closing the gap between them and clasping a hand over his shoulder, causing him to tense and mask his embarrassment as the man leaned in towards him.

"You'll do me proud, son," he stated, then dipped his head, his helmet obscuring his face from view. A squeeze on his shoulder and the soldier withdrew a step, drawing up to his full height again, and presenting Scout with a brilliant smile.

"You always do," he beamed, then turned on the spot and marched off to the bottleneck.

"Battle begins in five minutes Scout. Get your ass ready and into your position".

"Y-yeah..gotcha," the besotted slugger called back, his heartbeat quickened and picking up a familiar pounding rhythm not unlike when he first stepped off that train.

Remembering this, he smiled quietly, then shifted on his feet and followed his heart.


	2. Big Fish

**Big Fish**

* * *

A shoal of mermen are playing in the current, messing about below the surface. The oldest keeps them from breaching the surface and checking they don't near the surf though, and even though they bite back from his overprotective stance, they've all heard of the dangers of the skies above.

Its not enough to stop them having fun, and they laugh and piss about through the shafts of sunlight that shine beautifully under the waves.

Between boasts of who's the fastest brother, the youngest Mer jeers that he can outswim any of them, and naturally a row breaks out between the rowdy gang.

Finally, the second eldest, Seb comes out on top with a dare: The one quick enough to swim up and touch the jetty in the nearest landshore and swim back to this spot wins.

Cheers erupt, and they all laugh about how much tail they'll each be choking on after they leave each other behind in the foam. And there's a lot. The flurry of fins and scale is enough to catch the eye of the lone fisherman riding the current in downwind. So as the shoal surge off towards the mark, fists blurring as they near simultaneously touch it and turn back, there's an incoming prow keening towards them, coasting to port with a trawler's net lowered.

The mer freak in fear, and screams and flailing ensue as they dart and corkscrew changing course. The crash of bodies leave them disorientated, but as the seconds dash by in frenzied movement, the pulsing of blood in their ears combined with the roar of the oncoming motor engine leaves them deaf, scrambling away finally from their entangled mess of limbs, and bolting downwards and away to the trenches.

Except for one.

Struggling and hissing madly as his arms are tangled in the corded net, the youngest gasps hoarsely as he's assaulted by the icy tang of the wind. The shock of the cold leaves him frozen, and his brain shuts down as he's pulled over the side, choking on empty gills. He barely hears the grunt of surprise as his vision fades, and as his body goes limp, he feels the ropes falling away as a gravelly voice looms close and bulky limbs reel him towards scratchy warmth.

"..Sweet Mary mother of Joseph.."

—-

 _Always figured there wasn't enough on Scout's family in fiction. Plus I never prompted for Mer AU before, so here's a h/c prompt for the pair and their peers. Bonus points for how well a human's first meeting with a legendary being goes, especially if the personalities are written in canon._


	3. Listen

**Listen**

* * *

Sometimes, when the base is quiet, with the team either out in town, or working away on their own projects, Soldier hums to fill the quietness. If the lounge is empty, he'll turn on the TV for background noise, or stick on the radio. Just something to keep him away from the smothering quiet….

Sometimes, when the base is quiet, and everyone is asleep, Scout will keep his headset on, not just to catch up on the late night game reviews, but yaknow, to remind him of home.

Sometimes, when there's no-one else around, Soldier will bark orders at cut-outs and dismembered heads. His troops are lifeless and static, but he's sure they'll pay attention to him, at least.

Sometimes, when there's no-one else around, Scout will stuff a towel under his dorm door, and practise his chat-up lines in front of the mirror. No way he'll let creeps like that French frog steal his good pick-up lines, not when he's found one that he's _sure_ will hit the mark this time.

Sometimes, all they want is someone to listen..


	4. All The World's A Stage

**All the world's a stage**

* * *

Scout is sat in the rec room watching the old TV. Like most things shared between the group, it has had its fair share of scrapes and dents where arguments led to flying furniture and the occasional house fire.

So even with Engie fixing it up with scrap on a near monthly basis, the blurred crackle of static and bent antennae are a constant hassle.

Still, its late and Scout's bored. He's not surprised when the battered thing finally does fizzle and break in the middle of a show though, and groans at the thought of fixing it.

 _'If you were with it last, it's yours to fix'_ being a common rule in the bases and all..

A few muttered expletives later and scuffling about the wires in the back, and Scout's realised this ain't a job for a guy like him. So he scoops up the wiring and set and jogs down the hall to Engie's workshop.

While Engie is up late, tinkering with the teleport system, he's not in the mood to fix up the battered box right now. The grimace on his face explains exactly how long Scout should bother him on this, and so he shoves the box on the back shelf and backs out of the shop before the often soft-spoken Texan shows his short-tempered wild side.

Shoulders slumped, Scout pads away down the hall..bored again. He muses briefly on what could be bothering Engie so much, then recalls something at dinner about spies and how the machines are being targetted like crazy recently..he's probably proofing the teles or something then..he don't know..

The gloom of the shadows down the silent hallways closes in on Scout's mood like damp, the knowledge that all his teammates doors are shut meaning that they're keeping to themselves.. Man's gotta respect people's privacy at least, and hey, he may be the 'brat' but even he's got manners..

..Its the small glow of light shining through the window that grabs his attention. Out through the windows, a flicker on the horizon makes Scout curious. A grin creases away the pout, and he changes pace, disappearing into the night to investigate.

The tin can fire spits absently as he jogs up to the camp, and its with a little disappointment that he finds that it's Soldier and his crazy ass cut-out buddies keeping watch, and not some 'adventure'.

The older merc questions his sudden arrival, and it takes a couple of seconds to explain that NO, the robot's are _not_ invading the base, and yeah, he's just bored.

He's answered with a raised brow, but surprisingly the war dog sits back down and continues to keep watch.

Scout joins him.

A few minutes of stillness between them and the batter wonders why it don't feel awkward. He takes the beer passed to him though when the American offers a sip.

The older man chuckles that he's being particularly quiet, and Scout shoots back a half-hearted retort.. They stay mostly silent though as the cold air breezes about them.

Murmurs of conversation drift about as the night goes on, and by the time Scout figures he should head back in for bed, he changes his mind and stays to listen to more of Soldier's yarns, sticking on his own embellishments where he feels his expert opinion is needed.

As the night becomes harsher, Scout finds that his pal's rumbling slang has grown closer, and the buzz of the beer on his lips warms him up to the idea of Soldier's shoulder now resting against his.

Even hours later, when they're watching the midnight heavens, quarreling in hushed tones over which constellation goes where, there's a feeling of contentment in sharing the quiet of the open-air.

Warm puffs of air pass between them as they mutter on, and the fact that the tin can fire sputters out and dies like the old TV doesn't bother them much at all.

Nah, Scout muses, as he breathes in the familiar smell of smoke and polish that he associates with everyday life..staying here to watch the show in the skies is better than any crappy old fuzzing box.

The arm that nestles around him and tugs him close seems to show Soldier's agreement as well.

* * *

 _This is for talking more than anything. Although somehow I ended up writing it instead. Sorta._

 _If anyone would like to fix it up a little, bonus points for centering about the whole TV and stargazing comparison. Sometimes we spend too much time living inside a box of social norms, and forget the world around us._


	5. Origins

**Origins**

* * *

 _A reblog from an answer post. My personal headcanon is that BLU Scout and RED Soldier make the best pairing for this ship._

 _Like_ _Valoscope_ _mentioned, it's pretty obvious BLU Scout gets a raw deal out of all the canon in the TF2 verse, yet we don't see much on his own opinions and attitudes towards what's going on._

 _His Ma is dating the French freak from the other team, and if he's anything like his counterpart that's a major put-down for the mother's boy. Top that off with the RED Scout scoring a date with Ms Pauling, and he should be funking full-time._

 _What if he had his own secret admirer though, who took his mind off how badly things were going for him. That guy being a crazy RED-blooded American who would refuse to give up on the things he loves…_

* * *

Whether he was funking pretty badly from watching his mama go out with that freak, or watch that poser chase away into the sunset with the only _real_ woman on the base, or if he was simply getting the job done with pleasure and relish at killing spies, it took a while to notice the attempts the volatile rocket guy made at friendship.

First, the guy began ignoring him in favour of hunting down others, which made him mad. _What_ , did he think he wasn't big enough of a threat? Think he could walk away and pretend was some kid like that French freak?

 _Jackass!_

When the guy began actively seeking him out though, that is, _after_ Scout went on a full-week tour de force to get the jerk to notice him, something went off in the back of his mind.

One day, that feeling spread to his heart , when the maniac, _his enemy_ need he remind you, paused at seeing him pathetically crawl around the corner away from a sentry nest, bleeding through his ripped shirt onto the dusty ground and shaking profusedly.

They both stared at each other, him craning his neck up at the Red, and the American staring down at him impassively from under his helmet. But as Scout inwardly cursed and grimaced as he steeled himself for the cold grip of Respawn, he was shocked when the American instead chose to swivel around and check for company, then crouch down and scoop Scout up and over his shoulder, holding him in a fireman's carry as he rushed him to the nearest shelter.

That first time the guy helped him was weird. Heck, he would have been near lost for words if he had had it in him to do more than murmur and groan from the bulletspray riddling his torso.

But it wouldn't be the last time the Red Soldier left him behind with a grin, and even if he did fight him in the field, Blu Scout began to find this new puzzle in his life a challenge.. _fun_ even.

 _What the heck was this guy playing at? Why does he always smile that way? How can a guy be that..that.._

Thinking over and over it, on and off field turned Blu Scout's attentions away from the sting of his ma's affair, and the more he ran after the crazy idiot with the shotgun, the more he found out little details he should have noticed before.

The way the man's jaw twitched before he smiled, giving him a crooked grin that made him look like a kid caught playing in the mud. Scout loved seeing that when he finished off his kills with those quirky salutes. Or better yet, when the runner would be capping the point and all of a sudden out of nowhere their Heavy, or Soldier would be crushed into the dirt by the crashing feet of the RED, and Scout would catch a rare glimpse of the glee on his face as he finished them with his shovel.

 _..hah._ He really shouldn't have laughed at those times, but if anybody heard him cheering, they'd probably mistake it for him being a prick anyhow.

..having to deal with the Red Spy dating his ma had put him in a lousy mood for quite a while, taking his frustration out on his teammate's failures where he could, and been treated with disdain in the process.

But the more he thought on it, maybe being a Red wasn't so bad after all. I mean _yeah_ , the frog was a smoggy, wrinkled freak, no doubt about that!

Comparing the Red Soldier with their own however, he found quite a few similarities. The Blu was stubborn like him, and _loud_ like him, and they both seemed to live and breathe the military regime..but Scout kinda began to hope that his soldier wasn't shacked up with the Red Engineer, like the Blu Soldier was with their engie..

Wait, did he say his Soldier?

 _..Ah crap….._


	6. Proposal

**Proposal**

* * *

Soldier never really thought that it would get this far. He's had to fight tooth, blood and nail to get where he wanted to be for everything in his life, so for this to happen, and to keep looking like it will stay that way is enough to make the man tremble, and try to hide the tears that threaten to fall, trailing down his face and belying the softer side that he was afraid others would mock him for. Men don't cry, especially men of war.

So he when he finally is ready to propose, has thought of the prefect place, the perfect time, and has let the team in on the plan (with a much more noticeable quiet tone and more rigid posture than they _usually_ identify with the man), the man races ahead up the slope on Helltower.

He sees Scout riding the cart up the lift to the detonator. Sees the strewn dead around his feet, all the bloodied remains not leaving a scratch on the brilliant smile that the man flashes as he rides the cart to the top. He's going to ride it into Respawn.

Soldier's helmet tilts back as counts down the inches. His feet grind into the wooden walkway as they swivel into position, the familiar weight of his launcher adjusting on his shoulder, and a determined grin breaks on his face as he squeezes the trigger.

The detonator connects, the bomb explodes, but instead of the cool rush of of Respawn spiriting him away to be recloned, Scout feels a strong arm supporting him round his waist, and a grizzled jawline pressed against his temple.

He leans into that instantly recognisable smell of sweat, leather, and gunpowder, and beams as he realises the Soldier's 'romantic' move. Feet slide easily down to brace against his lover's right foot, a tightening grip his only response. There amongst the ruins of a Demo's feet and and Spy's decapitated head do they land, the Scout shakily untangling himself from the Soldier as he straightens up from his crouch..and into a kneel.

Scout is just about to laugh off the sweet moves the guy just pulled when he turns around to see Soldier staring solemnly up at him. Taken aback, Scout pauses as the man reaches up and removes his blood-stained helmet.

Beneath, his lover stares up at him with such adoration and weakness in his trembling posture that the runner's jaw hangs open slack, overwhelmed from a sudden surge of emotion. He watches the man's shaking hands disappear into his jacket, withdrawing a small gold box. He holds it outwards, up for inspection..like, like some sort of prize but holy crap Scout already knows what this is and holy crap he can feel the _butterflies mounting up and overcoming his stomach and rising out and through his limbs and mouth and-_

"Scout? " a quiet voice brings him down from his frayed nerves, and back to the kneeling Soldier before him.

"Y-yeah Jane?"

"I promise to always love you, even if we fight, even when we grow old, even when die and are nothing more than bones for the birds to peck at."

Scout has to swallow around a lump in his throat to draw breath, but any reply was cut through when the soldier barrels on in a barking rant.

"You're more beautiful than anyone I've ever met! Your smile is brighter than any star on the flag! I love the smell of you, the smell of your coffee in the morning, the way you run, the damned stupid way you laugh, the way you fit so perfectly against me!"

Out of breath, the now-blushing man ducks his head in an effort to hide away his shame. His shaking fingers clumsily undo the catch of the small Australium box, and in muted shock, Scout beholds what lay nestled inside.

A slender, simple gold band topped with a single diamond, gleaming in the dull shade of the tower..

"It was my mother's..," whispers the trembling form knelt at his feet. Scout doesn't even care that the world is swaying now, he's too caught up in this moment. This moment _here_ and _now_..

The gruff murmur continues slowly, like all the bravery and strength of his fierce lover has been blown out of his bowed frame.

"It would do me the greatest honour if you could accept it, Joseph Holt..if you would accept _me_."

That's when Soldier finally lifts his head, and Scout can fully see the tears he's struggled so hard to fight flowing down his face, the fear of rejection etched plain into his skin.

The world drops away with a crunch as Scout realises that he's on his knees too, holding his lover's hands like a lifeline and trying his ever so freaking hardest not to cry. The soldier's openly biting his lip at this point, hoping to _God_ that wherever the rest of the team said they'd run off to, that it wasn't anywhere near to watch him cry like a baby.

In front of the man he was trying to propose to.

 _Dammit.._

Through the panic that beginning to swell in his chest, he feels the reassuring pressure around his hands, steadying them and helping him to settle.

Jo is there.

..waiting for him.

 _Like always.._

He reads the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the swell of his Adam's apple as it sticks in his throat _\- all the things that sees from under his helmet._

The buck-toothed mouth, the light dusting of beard along his upper lip, the goddamn _beautiful_ thing it does to him when he hears Scout laughing like the moronic private he is, _the way he's looking at him now_..

Soldier decides then and there that even if it is only the emotion talking, he will protect this man always, married or not. By all that America means to him, he _means_ it. Because he sure as hell could not have walked another step in this lonely world without him by his side to pull him through.

The words slip out before either of them notice them. It takes a full two seconds for Soldier to process them, and a full two seconds for Scout to marvel at how easy those words were to say.

And as his lover's posture crumbles entirely as he drags him forward into a bone-crushing hug, he savours the words on his tongue again as he repeats them under his breath.

"..Yeah, I do.."


	7. Rain

**Rain**

* * *

Of all the control points, Scout reckons he hates Sawmill the most. Sure, Coldfront can be just as bad. The frost has everyone bundled up in parkas and jackets, and he's not the only one who has to recover from an ill-fated skid across the icy ground.

 _..it's sure as hell funny when he sees the mooks go flying though.._

Nah, dealing with the ice and the snow ain't as bad as Sawmill. A rusty, old lumber mill in the middle of nowhere? Huh..it's like the backdrop to one of those creepy noir films on TV. Not even mentioning the thickly packed fir trees on either side, barrricading them in. Sniper has some weird taste if he finds the place pretty. And don't even get him started on the maintenance of the place neither.

Every time they return, Engie starts muttering under his breath about having to fix up the electricity in the basement, which for some dumb reason _always_ get flooded. You'd reckon that with all the money they spent on keeping this place 'looking' like a real establishment, nevermind their paycheck, that it could be the professional standard of base they were used to.. _not this run-down death trap._

Still, at least he hadn't been roped into clearing out the basement any time recently. He might have managed to sneak away all those times before when the surly Texan began dragging people way to help out, but even up on the roof you could hear the screams from that one time that Heavy fell into the electrocuted area..

..the nasty smell of burnt merc stayed down there well after the guy came out of Respawn too. _Eugh.._

The runner took another sip of coffee, placing the dirty mug back down and staring out the fogged up window. Fat splotches of dirt streaked down across the pane as a constant drizzle of mountain rain assaulted the muddy ground outside.

With a groan, he looked back down at his leg, stretched out awkwardly in front of him on one of Soldier's parkas. He tentatively flexed his foot, but a shooting jolt in reply had him fighting back a wince.

"Freaking mud.."

"What was that?"

"I said this mud is freaking stupid! Why the hell do we have to fight over a sawmill of all places? There's plenty of rocks and shit for us to fight over in the desert, where it's _dry_!"

A scolding voice echoed back round the corner, making the man flinch slightly in his ratty armchair.

" _Sweetheart_ , we are fighting here because it is where the war has taken us! Complaining over silly details like terrain is a waste of time!"

Sulking, he slid a little lower into his seat, half-heartedly biting back at the man in the mess kitchen.

"Well you ain't exactly the one with the busted up joint, are ya? Try doing your job with a twisted ankle, especially as a Scout!" he griped, leaning forward. "It ain't no freaking cakewalk pal! _..lousy fucking rain.._ "

He would have continued to grumble, but was interrupted as the burly man appeared from around the corner with a steaming cup of coffee. His customary helmet was discarded elsewhere, the Soldier's frown was clearly visible as he took in the otherwise empty room that Scout had shut himself off to mope in.

"Will you get a hold of yourself, Private? It's only a sprain, not a bloody massacre. We've seen worse, and will continue to do so for a very long time."

"Yeah, but unlike every _other_ time, we're stuck in Sawmill. Which means crappy weather, crappy base, and crappy Respawn which won't fix stupid sprains that only happened 'cause of the stupid freaking mud.."

Clenching his jaw, the Scout turned his head and went back to sullenly glaring at the rain. He didn't look back when he felt the dip in the sofa next to him, or the quiet clink of another mug on the table. The warm arm that fell around his shoulders made him lighten up a little though.

"You know you're cute when you pout like that," an amused voice chuckled lowly beside his ear.

"Shut up Solly..," he groused back.

A snicker and a slight tug pulling him back against the man's chest was his only response.


	8. Promptfest

**Promptfest**

* * *

Scout is laughing fit to bust a gut at 2am after the raccoon's explosive farting wakes them both up. He thinks he's gonna _die_ when Soldier begins to lecture Lt. Bites on the improper intake of spoilt dairy products, but the guy can't help laughing along too. They'll end up in respawn together at least.

* * *

The runner loves the satisfaction of digging his teeth gently into the sensitive skin around Soldier's groin. The little licks and nips he leaves behind make a lovely accompaniment to the muffled whine reverberating down through the skin.

* * *

The entire team is sick of the two dumbasses turning breakfast into a nightmare. If Spy catches another 'hidden' ass-squeeze or unintentional 'shoulder-bump', he thinks he's going to puke. Demo laughs outright at the Frenchman's disgust, then throws up his morning scrumpy anyway. _He really does need to stop drinking in the morning.._

And the day that Soldier blatantly shouts that he and his boyfriend are going to stick by the bomb cart this round, no one even wastes a second on the word.

* * *

One of the things that has Soldier in awe of their relationship is how well that they fit together. In battle, Scout storms in, and he follows in close behind with the thunder. Soldier's more experienced but still finds the simplest, childlike things amusing, whilst the younger man has all the knowledge of a virgin, and could _still_ outtalk the smartest minds if you let him.

True, sometimes they didn't understand everything, but who _does_? They both look at life as a challenge to be won, Scout often showing off like a painter hastily trying to throw as much of himself onto the canvas as possible, while Soldier is more of a sculpter, chipping away at some giant slab of marble that with every blow becomes more and more the masterpiece he wants it to be.

It isn't a similarity though that leaves Soldier certain that Scout perfect for him, but a difference.

Leaning down slightly as limber arms curled around his shoulders, it's the perfect curve of Scout's lips against his underbite that melts away the man's fears.

Against the hum of skin and breath on flesh, any doubt that this would fall away - that like always before, the things that he cherished stay _constantly_ out of his reach..

..the graze of underbite against overbite tells him no.

This is real.

* * *

Sometimes Pyro appreciates how much everyone loves their baking skills. Other times, when the rec room is a mess of upturned coffee tables, the one base standard-issue lounge lying smashed in the corner, and Soldier and Scout are rolling around screaming in the remnants of the last cookie batch, their fingers are just itching for their flamethrower..

* * *

Living with seven older brothers is one life-long wrestling match that Scout has gotten used to. For Soldier, it's much the same with life in general. So duking stuff out is a normal couple's activity in their view.

It's when Scout is left winded and dazed from a piledriver into the floorboards that Soldier immediately backs off, grinning softly all the while as he pulls the guy into his lap and starts kissing away his sullen protests.

* * *

He may be a golden eagle in the sky but _holy crap_ is Soldier a klutz on the ice. As soon as Scout manages to get the man's posture right, and _taught him to turn dammit-_

"I ain't gonna pay for that!"

..the guy still somehow ends up dragging them both down in a heap.

In the middle of the rink too. _Freaking perfect_. He grumbles a little when they both get to their feet, Soldier gripping his hands unsteadily enough to show him that the guy still needs his help back to the railing.  
Considering that that's the fifth time today that Soldier bowled him over on his gliding warpath Scout should be a lot more pissed off, however he's got to admit the guy's gleeful enthusiasm is catching. A couple of hours later, with soaked asses and a formal complaint from the highschool football club, the pair stagger back to their apartment with takeout.


	9. Unexpected Guests

**Unexpected Guests**

He froze, his hand stuck to the handle of the open door. Then a scream pitched out of his lungs, full and shrieking outwards across the corners of the room as the young man stumbled back in terror. He scrambled blindly away, mindlessly scratching and ripping away obstacles in his path. Anything to get away from that, that-

"What the hell even _is_ that?!"

Scout started again, shocked partially by the sound of his own voice, but it was the figure advancing round the sofa that really got his heart racing. Whispery traces of a human hand collected blurrily onto the corner of the sofa, as the creature seemed to pause, staring down its – _nose?!_

His eyes bulging in confusion and shock, the runner barely felt the familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins, and in his freaked state, madly bolted for an opening. The thing turned to watch as he scrambled away, the man's face still glued to it in horror as he blindly fled.

It took Scout all of three seconds to register that he'd ran headlong into the partition wall, crumpling into a heap of throbbing limbs and shaking breaths. He stared dazedly about him, trying to pinpoint his pursuer, but the blurred form seemed to have gone.

All he could hear was the pant of his breath, the pounding of his heart drowning his hearing. He tried to concentrate, a slow dull ache forming at his temple telling him that the adrenaline had begun to fade. Then it came, as sudden as if the gravelly voice had been by his ear the entire time.

"What are you doing in my apartment, private?"

Now terrified, the runner flung out his arms, desperately trying to shield himself from his phantom attacker. He couldn't even stop the tears from forming as he clearly saw the thing stalk towards him, spectral forms like legs coming into view in front of him as he lay slumped against the wall.

A choked sob escaped his throat as he realised how freaking _cold_ it had gotten all of a sudden, and he found himself idly thinking through his panic that he really should have worn a jumper,

Maybe his best suit even….since he was gonna die and _aw holy crap_ _this was really happening!_

His bare arms went numb as he felt the cold seep into his skin, his sinews trembling as a jolt of ice ran up his spine, and as the distorted figure crouched down to his level, now looking for all the world like some old man, Scout gave out one last incredulous moan.

"Who the fuck _are_ you..?"

Then his eyes rolled back into his head, body going limp as the darkness dragged him under, mercifully blind to the large, claw-like hands reaching out towards him.

* * *

It hurt.

Scout groaned, and ground his teeth together, buck-teeth scraping over and then back against his jaw as he groggily tilted his head to the side. His back protested painfully as he got up, and bleary eyes took in the dull, worn-out couch beneath him. Grimacing, he rubbed a sympathetic hand down the flat of his back, popping his vertebrae back into place. It wasn't the best way to wake up in the morning, but it served his dumb ass right for sleeping on the couch again.

Flexing tiredly, the athlete reached out his arms over his head. A particularly sharp wince had him curling back in on himself though as his head brushed against the ratty couch upholstery. He gasped in surprise as a dull throb began again on his forehead, and tentative hands ran over the now swelling lump that protruded from his temple. No blood, but it sure as hell wasn't a simple knock on the head. Thinking back, the runner chewed his upper lip in concentration as he tried to remember what had happened last night.

He remembered finishing up at the track with Tav...then he went down to the florist again to double-check that the florist got my instructions right for Ms Pauling's bouquet...

A small grin crossed his lips as he imagined the corporal swooning at the sight of those gorgeous violets he picked out for her, pretty and delicate enough to match her lipstick, and fresh and leafy enough to match her eyes..

He sighed goofily, before he realised what a schmuck he probably looked like and shook his head to clear the sap from his ears, which only added an extra smack of pain to the back of his skull. Wincing, again, he tried to remember what time he was at the shop. They'd closed at 6, he only gotten there with ten minutes to spare before the lady went and shut up shop….then he'd gone left down past Charleston St. to grab some Chinese from that takeaway down the street. No _nutjobs_ followed him back, and he'd locked the door anyhow..

Glancing up towards the open corridor, his Red Sox bat still stood propped up against the main door to his apartment. Which meant there was no way that anybody could have picked the lock then got away...

A twitch of recognition, and his attention was brought back to the door, still open ahead of him on the left of the room _..._ where he'd walked through, shucked off his sneakers, then brought the duck noodles into the kitchen, going back take off his hoodie in the hall. Then he'd walked back through the...

Angular features blanched as Scout sprang up into a sitting position, eyes darting about the room as the memory of that _thing_ returned, fresh and painful in his mind. His still-wrapped fingers unconsciously dug into the couch as he scanned frantically behind the sofa, feeling like a life-raft adrift on an open ocean.

But there were no monsters lurking around him. Any furniture that he remembered overturning, or flinging away from him was set down in their proper place.

"Even the magazines are still stacked..," he murmured. He reached out with a shaking hand to touch his subscriptions of Red Sox and Mann Monthly brochures. The ghost of callouses over glossy, dog-eared covers verified that yes - this _was_ possible.

Retracting his hand, he let out a relieved sigh, cracking a goofy grin as he felt the panic ebbing away. He chuckled quietly, beginning to feel a little foolish.

What was wrong with him? Everything was fine; no creeps following him home, no freaking _monsters_ hiding behind the couch. Everything was just as it was before... He paused, picking himself off the sofa and surveying the room once more. Hhm. Maybe a little neater than he remembered it. He was sure he never kept his Saxton Hale figures facing the window? Shaking his head, and wincing again at the agitated bruise, the runner began to make his way over to the kitchen to for some pain killers.

The pleasant smell of coffee greeted him as he approached the door, and he blithely smiled as turned towards the top cabinet, opening the wooden door and rattling a lone packet of Ibuprofen to check that there was still some in there.

Wait, _coffee?_

He slammed the door shut, and span round to see a guy standing next to the kettle, heaping teaspoons of sugar into a mug, as he turned round to face him.

The older man leaned slightly against the counter, standing not much taller than him, but a grubby tank top pulled taut against a sizeable broad chest and muscled arms. A pair of dark slacks hung comfortably at his cinched-in waist, and as he turned to face Scout fully, the kitchen light above him shone down in a shimmering haze against the chestnut fuzz of his head, set neatly in a crew-cut above his low sloping brow and strong jaw.

Picking up the steaming coffee, the stranger smiled warmly at him.

"Morning, son."

Scout screamed. Tumbling backwards, arms flailing as he tried to retain his balance, the man wildly clutched for a weapon of some kind. The intruder seemed perturbed, setting down the mug and regarding him oddly. Trying to make sense of this weird situation, Scout's brain blurted out the first thing that came to it.

"H-how is this possible?!

"I already told you," the burly man replied calmly, "it's my apartment."

" _Your_ apartment?!" the athlete cried, his voice cracking into an unmanly screech. Grabbing at the kitchen counter to steady himself, his features twisted as his startled nerves egged him onwards.

"What do you mean this is your apartment? Does it look like it says your name on the door pally? How did you even get in here?" he gestured wildly, "What, did you squeeze in through the bathroom window? Hell, the one in the lounge is four stories _up_!"

The man looked about to answer, but Scout's frantic tirade had him shot down before he even opened his mouth.

"I mean, freaking hell! I can't even tell if you're a loony, or some actual nut with a psycho complex that gets kicks from breaking and entering! Either that, or _I'm_ going loony and what happened was real and you really _are_ a freaking…a freaking…."he paused, taking in the other occupant, who continued to stand motionless against the kitchen counter. Forcefully shaking his head, the youth let go of the counter and took a decisive step towards him.

"Man, I'm not sure _where_ you've come from, or what you even are, but _**get out**_!"

"Don't want to," the man deadpanned, his face retaining a look of mild bewilderment.

The runner unleashed a groan of frustration as anger began to overtake his fear.

"What? Ugh, well how come you're _here_?" he shot back, swinging his arms up in agitation and twisting about on the spot.

"I've always been here," came the quiet reply, the taller man tilting his head slightly to the side in reaction to his companion's behaviour. The other's eyes practically bulged out of his skull at that, his incredulous voice coming out gasping.

" _Watching me_?!" he panicked, jolting into a defensive martial arts stance; the image not quite as threatening as it could be due to his shaking arms.

"What? No!" the elder man spat, straightening up as his features screwed up with distaste at the sudden insinuation. Continuing on before there were any more assumptions on Scout's part, the stranger put the coffee back down on the counter. He held the disturbed runner's gaze steady as he carried on in a matter-of-fact tone.

"There was nobody else here till you opened the door-"

"-Impossible!"

"-I've been here for six months," his intruder finished, effectively cutting off Scout's interruption as a hint of authority entered his gravelly voice.

If the man clinging onto the marble counter beside could do more than gape and stutter wordlessly like a gasping salmon, he might have registered more clearly how the man across from him looked - even regal.

"But that's not possible?" he stuttered in his tone pitching in disbelief, "how come you never saw me move in?"

"The door's never been opened," the man replied, simply.

"Here," Scout bit back," -the door's opened!" aggressively reaching behind himself for the doorknob and flinging the door wide open with a bang.

It was quiet. The hum of the strip light above them stood in stark contrast to the silence that fell around them, gooseflesh raising along the runner's arm outstretched arm as he stood, ready and waiting for this nutjob's comeback.

But the guy just stared. A lengthy pause drew out between them, leaving the cold air charged from Scout's outburst. The man across from him seemed struck dumb, his frozen frame showing what Scout could only describe as muted shock.

Striking cobalt eyes were wide, brightly lit under the strip light. Then they creased up under a slowly furrowed brow, the elder man taking on a thoughtful expression. The long silence that followed was near deafening as Scout heard the panicked heartbeat in his ears slowly dull and fade to a sluggish beat. As the seconds dragged painfully by, it became almost nauseating, watching the other with anticipation. When his lips finally whispered sound, it was a low gruff murmur that was all too quiet for Scout's comfort.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

That stopped any of Scout's biting remarks dead in his mouth. The quiet and the solemn atmosphere that had fallen felt like a bucket of icy water on his temper, and watching the guy as was now, he figured he should cut him a break.

"..Yeah...yeah, that's the whole floating spirit thing right there..." he replied, feeling awkward and reaching a bandaged hand up to card through his sandy hair.

Another lengthy pause fell between the two, then the older man let a quiet sigh.

"All this time here, there's been nothing here except me," he began, hesitating and unconsciously clenching his jaw while he mulled over his next words.

"Day after day, walking about this apartment like nothing had happened..I forgot...no I _chose_ to ignore the truth," he grumbled, dull consonants and vowels nearly lost to the air if not for Scout's sharp ears.

The defeated man huffed, clearing his lungs as he continued. "Passing by the door, never going outside. Every time I started to remember, I just..I _just_.." he trailed off, lips creasing into a ugly frown that left deep lines against his face.

Scout shifted uncomfortably against the counter, swallowing back the lump in his throat. The intimidating person he was so scared of before was now was quickly disappearing into the form of a tired old man.

Truthfully, he didn't know what to make of it. Seeing the man's fist clench involuntarily by his sides, he felt his throat tighten with some untold emotion. He barely noticed the hitch in his breath as the man paused to address him directly.

"When you opened the door, it was the first time I'd had a visitor.." he explained softly, his face solemn, pretty much a solid mask if it weren't for the wetness Scout swore he could just see glistening at the edges of his shadowed eyes.

"..It takes you a bit of time to accept it..," he finished, shoulders slumped in dejection, posture melting away as he averted his face to hide from Scout's scrutiny. The quiet fell again, leaving a depressed and awkward atmosphere in the kitchen.

More for conversation than anything, and admittedly a bit of morbid curiosity on his part, Scout probed further.

"Uh, no offence, but what happened?"

The bulky man let out a disgruntled snort. "Something dumb," he muttered, staring down at the kitchen lino. "I was fishing toast out of the toaster with a fork."

"Dude, that _is_ dumb."

"Shut up!" the man snapped hastily, though he quickly dipped his head to hide his obvious embarrassment. Noticing the darkened tint to his companion's cheeks, Scout felt a little awkward, and shifted on his feet. Taking a lighter tone, he pushed back his shaken nerves and stuck on an apologetic grin.

"Eh no worries.., "he started unsurely, bringing a taped hand up to absent-mindedly scratch his ear. Seeing the other's embarrassed silence as a sign to continue, he joked," I always wondered why I got the place cheap".

The other looked up at that, and fixed him pointedly with his stormy-blue gaze as his head tilted to the left in confusion. He looked kinda cute to be honest...like some stray puppy you'd find in the rain...ey, wait up this was some _dead guy_ in his kitchen who for some reason managed to sneak in and live with him for six months...not some mutt! And how on earth is that even freaking possible when he'd never-

"Err, something the matter, son?"

 _Oh..._

"Ah, well, I was just thinking," he gaffed, chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip as he struggled to find words – which didn't come often either, lack of things to say, not the not saying words, wait what? Oh crap he was staring. Sheepishly dragging a bandaged hand through his sandy hair, he grinned nervously and added, "...well, you know, thanks to you I get the better offer."

The apparition let out a sharp bark of a laugh, although honestly it felt more listless than amused. The feeling of awkwardness between the two grew as the silence stretched on. Shuffling his feet, the other suddenly huffed and looked distractedly around the kitchen.

"I should probably leave..," he murmured, his posture notably slouching as he gazed desolately around his 'home'.

Now this would probably have been the best time to have agreed, Scout thought. Show the guy the door, go back to finishing his evening, morning- whatever the hell time it was, and be thankful that he had gotten the one ghost who had _willingly_ chosen to leave. The quiet pain that had etched itself onto the intruder's features struck Scout's heart with a sudden and uncomfortable twinge of emotion however. He barely noticed his own face falling into a grim expression alongside the one of his guest, the man now straightening up and staring resolutely past him at the partition doorway behind him.

Posture straight, strong chin held high, and piercing cobalt eyes set intently on the space behind him, Scout felt his breath catch as for a fleeting moment he saw the military man behind the spectre resurface. A stubbled jawline was set forward in grim determination, his low, sloping brow furrowing slightly as he masked his hurt into an impassive glare.

That moment was gone as quickly as it came as the elder man stepped towards him, but it didn't stop the swell of admiration in his chest as he watched the spirit pass his shoulder. Though watching him go, he felt his heart sink further. The guy just seemed so….defeated. Yeah, he was dead, and there wasn't anything left for him here, but his face...

Like he had nothing. No hope. No escape. _Nothing left..._

The only reason for that being that he was kicking him out, too...

He turned about fully to watch the man stand before the open door behind him. Both men felt it. With a strange, fateful clarity they knew this was it. That doorway, plain and nothing but wood and brass, was the edge; the one barrier that was separating the dead man from the next world.

Scout stiffened as he noticed the overhead glare of the corridor strip light melt through the man's bulky form, the stark contrast from a solid form looking more like one of those old Polaroid sepia shots, grounding the runner with the reality he was facing.

In retrospect, it probably wouldn't have mattered if he'd moved or not, seeing as the guy was a ghost and all, he mused bitterly. He saw the man reach out hand for the handle, a breath escaping his lips in a rush of surprise as the air became instantly charged.

Something would happen if that door swung shut. They both knew it, same as they knew with that same sense of dread that when he opened that seemingly normal oak door again, and walked through it, he'd be gone. The hairs on the back of his neck felt like prickling spiders sharp against his skin as this real and so very _final_ realisation sank in.

It became an eerie silence as Scout stared at the handle, noticing only after a further five seconds that the man had yet to move the door. He was simply holding it, his broad frame stock still. A slight tremor of his knuckles gave him away, and Scout tore his gaze from the handle to look at the older man's face.

Fear. A fear that he knew that he'd know only goddamn too well if he were in the same position.

Sadness too. But of course everyone would feel that...

But, nah...

..it was _more_ than that.

The burly man stood before him might have looked menacing in an earlier life, but here and now his shoulders were slumped, his chest stooping low over his tensed stance. His face, half hidden from view, showed the marked lines of anguish that the man had tried and failed to hide.

He looked like a broken man...

A surge of compassion flooded his veins, and before Scout could even stop the words from falling out of his mouth, they flew out…and he found that he didn't care.

"Hey, uh, wanna stay a bit longer?"

The ghost flinched, hand jolting away from the handle, looking over at the runner in a bewildered fashion.

"..I was gonna stay in anyhow," Scout jabbered on, "and I figured I might as well have some company.

"Uh, sure..," the man replied, his voice low and halting. Stormy blue eyes were lost under a furrowed brow for a moment, then they stared right back at Scout with a question.

"What's your name anyhow?"

"Oh, err..." Taken aback by the obvious issue, Scout found himself momentarily speechless for the second time that day.

"Scout," he helpfully supplied, wondering why his mouth weren't running like it ought to today.

"Scout?" the other prompted, quirking an eyebrow sceptically.

The youth scoffed at that, straightening up and flashing a cocky grin. "What's the matter, you never read any Harper Lee?"

An amused grumble was his reply, and the ghost stuck out a hand.

"If that's the case, then you may call me Soldier," he grinned, his total about-face in mood catching Scout off guard for a moment. The smile near split his face in two; a big, beaming grin that made the younger guy feel all at once like someone had turned all the lights on, and at the same time made the new friend he'd made seem kinda endearing….he had to say he liked it.

Mirroring the man's newly beaming face with a toothy grin of his own, Scout thrust out a hand to meet his. On clasping, and surprisingly holding _onto_ what felt like a very real and solid palm, the athlete tried not to flinch at the unusual feel of chilled flesh against his skin. It must have been obvious though that he hadn't entirely concealed his discomfort by the wicked chuckle that Soldier gave, the grin stretching across his strong jaw as the spectre's voice took on a more goading tone.

"What's the matter, maggot? Anyone would think you were scared of a little cold," he snarked, smirking as Scout drew away.

"Ey, it's not exactly like I've ever seen a ghost before," the youth bluffed, puffing up his chest slightly to try look more confident.

Dismissing the other's taunt with ease, the man shrugged off the following smirk, continuing loudly, "And for that matter, I ain't ever watched a movie with a ghost neither," he noted, walking back into the lounge and switching on the TV as he carried on deflecting attention from his fumble. "So any other kooky or weird crap you got going on don't mean shit to my reputation tonight- _today_ even," he let out a sigh of frustration, "..not that I'm gonna get scared anyways..."

He heard a huff from the kitchen, then a quiet clink of a ceramic against marble as 'Soldier' picked up the abandoned mug of coffee and rounded the corner, torso partially fazing through the corner as he did.

Scout grinned at the admittedly neat trick, then shook off the weird shock that went with it and made his way over to the TV set.

"Sure is gonna be a new experience having you around..." he murmured thoughtfully, flicking through his DVD collection.

"Dibs on the remote."

 _"_ _No!"_


	10. Let Them Go

**Let Them Go**

Based off a very sweet song

 _'_ _But you only need the light when it's burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go..' _

* * *

It had been a dusty morning in the Badlands when they finally broke up, the dry wind guttering low round the patched-up corners and through the narrow cracks of the ramshackle buildings that Mann-Co. currently called their team barracks.

The pair had split up after a large fight, but this one was no different than the regular fighting. They'd just had enough of the screaming, their throats scraped dry like the dusty tarmac of the desert highway.

Three years of fighting and ripping each other apart for their contracts, and a further two of soft whispers and tentative laughter hidden by darkness had been slowly eaten away by temper and violence; leaving nothing left between the two parted mercenaries except a bloodthirsty lifestyle and a common robotic enemy on the horizon.

After going back to feeling confident again and having the space they wanted to breathe, Scout had gone back to his regular routine of flirting unsuccessfully at Ms Pauling. Soldier, in turn, had thrown himself into his managerial duties, and came back plastered nearly every night with his Scottish friend slung round his shoulders; both grinning like the inebriated madmen they were together as they stank out the base with their foul breath and rowdy voices.

It was over. Not even a friendly hug between them, in case it seems like something they once often shared.

But in the months after that, as they continued to work together on contracts, eventually the anger and residual resentment faded away with the stigma. The two began straying further towards the other; sometimes in a joined conversation, or even a drawn glance. Always drifting close, but never enough.

 _They were over now_ -and they both knew it. Just as they both knew too well that nothing was worth re-living the unending screaming matches and the sound of muffled sobbing that soon followed behind closed doors.

 _They respected that_. So when they had been told that they had only three days to live, they did _not_ move that extra inch closer. Scout laughed and bragged away the increasing panic in his voice -a little too loud to those that listened-, and blustered through the meetings; Soldier staying by his side- but not for his sake. For anybody else watching, it was just a spot at the table.

He didn't need to tell him that he'd be there alongside him. He'd always been a man of his oath.

When he had found out that Scout had a date with his old crush some time later, he was thrilled despite himself. Giddy as he imagined his once-lover's elation. _Content.._ he'd realised, as he spied on the two of them talking through the security CCTV. He was going to die happy...

Then it turned out that bread could mutate into monsters. And after all the fun of that _amazing_ discovery, it was with pure adrenaline pumping through his veins and acceptance lifting his heart that the man let go and went to his death with a manic grin.

Of course, finding out that you're still alive in the stomach of a giant bread abomination after the death clock has stopped and your ex-lover is there holding your boss close in a final embrace before your eyes is a confusing turn of events. And it turned out that they weren't dying either. Huh.

It would be a good few days after that incident that the pair would find themselves sitting together on the rec room couch, guffing and braying at some old Chaplin re-run. The same as a long time ago..

Sitting together at mess again, and chatting with Pyro over assault strategies and conspiring on other mad and ingenious schemes that the likes of the French tart would probably find 'imbecilic'; it felt like a second chance almost.

It would be a good few days more, with the assault team back together on the front lines, and a whole other year later after that, before the aging mercenary would be sat down in a seedy Blackburn diner, idly kicking his well-worn jackboots back against the cherry vinyl booth.

Less than a month after his whirlwind lover-cum-fiancée had become more enamoured with exploring the world and a _brighter_ future, than spending it with an aging man with decrepit lodgings and no 'cleaning sense', leaving him standing quietly with a large and placating hand on his shoulder.

Good old Komrad. Always stepping up to share the burdens of others.

He wasn't sad anymore though. Silly tears and picking splinters from bloodied fists had only reminded him of other times. And everything else that came with it.

It seemed funny, but as he heard the door to the diner swing open, with it's bell tinkling softly above it as it fell back onto the latch, Soldier felt he'd been thrown back into the past. Back to the moment that he'd wished would never end.

The day when he had seen Scout smiling for the 'last' time. With a mirrored feeling of familiar warmth flooding back into his veins, he grinned right back at the man walking up to him wearing the exact same bucktoothed smile.


End file.
